Ken’s breath came quickly as he watched his father step across out of the boat on to the steel deck of G2, but like the trained soldier that he was, he did not move.  Strang, however, had not forgotten him.

’You shall have your father to yourself as soon as we have settled things,’ he said, as he passed him.

Mr Ramsay, who had been manager of a British bank at Constantinople, was the other delegate from the boat.  He and Ken’s father both shook hands with Strang.

‘We are most deeply indebted to you, Commander Strang,’ said Captain Carrington.’  We never hoped for such luck as to find a British vessel already in the Marmora.

’Ours is unfortunately the only sort that can get through at present, sir,’ said Strang with a smile.’  And after all, I don’t know that you have much cause for gratitude.  I can’t ferry you home through the Straits, for in the first place I can’t carry you, and in the second I have my job to do up here.  There is only one thing I can think of.’  Here he lowered his voice, so that Ken could hear no more.  But presently he saw the others nod, evidently agreeing to the proposal, whatever it was.

[Illustration:  ‘Ken’s hand gripped that of father.’]

Mr Ramsay went back to the boat, and she was at once taken in tow.  The screws began to revolve again, and G2 swung round in a half circle, and headed due east, running on the surface.

Next minute Ken’s hand gripped that of his father.

For a moment neither of them could speak.  They had not seen one another for two long years, and both had so much to say that they did not know where to begin.

Strang, with his usual kindly tact, touched Ken on the shoulder.

’Take your father for’ard of the conning tower.  You can talk there without interruption.  We shall be on the surface for the present.’

Ken thanked him gratefully, and they both went forward, and there, leaning against the gray steel of the little turret, with the small waves lapping over the turtle-back forward, Ken told his father how their strange meeting had come about.

Then Captain Carrington gave his son a brief sketch of his two years’ imprisonment.  It had not been as bad as it might, for the kindly Othman Pacha had used what interest he possessed to get his friend shut up in a fortress instead of the usual horrible Turkish jail.  Still it had been bad enough, and the worst of it, the deep anxiety he had felt for Ken.

‘Well, that’s all over, dad, thank goodness,’ said Ken.  ’Everything will be all right now.  It’s only a matter of time before we force the Dardanelles, and—­’

‘A matter of time,’ broke in the other with the quizzical smile that Ken remembered so well.  ’Just so, my boy, but I’m afraid you are forgetting something.  What are we to do meanwhile?  Here we are, in the heart of Turkish territory, and no way out.  It’s rather early to say that our troubles are all over, isn’t it?’